


Haunt // Bed

by mmmmmmmmmmm



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: M/M, ghostie business, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmmmmmmmmm/pseuds/mmmmmmmmmmm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matty is a ghost. George is falling in love.<br/>It never feels like Matty is haunting him; it feels like Matty is living with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt // Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely a work in progress that I have been meaning to finish for some time now! This is just the first section of it; I'll be sure to add more as I write! (Vale will kill me if I don't finish it soon)

George isn’t it the best mood when he gets home late from some party.

Matty, however, is quite the opposite. Sat seemingly content on George’s plush couch, feet tucked under his crossed thighs as he taps away at the game controller in his pale hands. Like, Matty is dead and he looks at least 10 times happier than George feels at the moment, and George is alive for fucks sake.

George has been coming home to Matty for three months now and it’s almost starting to feel domestic. Well, it definitely does now that George’s girlfriend of two months has broken up with him (Hence the bad mood). It’s not like George was in love-- but she was nice. Nice, and soft.

Nice and soft and she even cooks him breakfast in the mornings when he stays over. Or rather, she did cook him breakfast in the mornings when he stayed over.

George figured it’d be a tad rude to show up at his ex-girlfriend’s house still expecting bacon, eggs, and tea.

Matty’s hardly even noticed George’s entrance, but once George is kicking his shoes off and settling into the cushions next to him, he turns his head to his friend (only friend now, really) and flashes a lopsided little smile. “It’s 20 past 2 AM. Must’a been out doin’ somethin’ fun.”

George crinkles his nose and sinks further into the couch, “Was fun before I got dumped.” and Matty just cants his head, licking over his lips, “Molly? She broke it off with you?”

George gives a faint smile despite the situation.

Matty remembers everything about George, like the names of his girlfriends, his favorite snacks, where each mole on his body is…

And maybe that was a bit much, but it wasn’t entirely Matty’s fault that he’d floated right on through the wall at one of the most inopportune times.

When George was getting off.

Matty remembered the flex of George’s muscles, the move of his hand. The way his mouth hung open, but no sound came out. His eyes screwed shut. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… 11 moles. Matty counted in his head. Dark against the slight sheen of his skin. 

Matty also remembered how George, at one point, opened his eyes and saw Matty just standing there. Staring. Gawking, in fact. Because Matty hadn’t seen someone like that in years.

...It hadn’t ended very well; it ended with George throwing a pillow at Matty and Matty avoiding George for days because of the spectacularly embarrassing incident, only materializing once he was sure George had left the house. When Matty and George finally got caught in the same room Matty had told himself internally not to say something idiotic, but the moment he opened his mouth, the only thing he could think to stutter out was, “You know, my parents used to sleep in that room.”

That’d made George laugh so hard he had to sit down. Matty swore that despite being well dead, he could feel the heat of a blush staining his cheeks.

But that was at least a month ago.

Things were a bit different now.

“Sucks.” Matty consoles George by patting a hand over his knee and giving the best pout he can manage, although George can sense Matty knows that in the end, she honestly didn’t mean much. She did, but at the same time she didn’t. George was upset, but not upset enough to spend a while lying ‘round, sulking and consuming copious amounts of jelly babies as a replacement for real meals that might take effort in the kitchen.

...If Matty weren’t around to keep him afloat, he reckoned that’s what he’d be doing, though.

In a lot of ways, Matty grounded him.

A ghost boy was keeping him sane. The mere thought of that would probably be insane to 99.9% of the population.

George gives a lazy shrug of his shoulders, “S’alright.” and looks to the TV, Matty following suit and picking up the controller once more. George instantly recognizes the game as Sims. “Sims again?” George rolls his head on the cushion to gaze at Matty who just gives a scoff and flaps his hand in his friend’s direction, “You have a life outside this house, I don’t-- this is me, like, vicariously living through my characters n’stuff. So.” and, oh, that makes George feel bad.

Honestly, George forgets Matty is deceased nearly all the time.

When Matty is leaning his elbows on George’s(actually, technically Matty’s) kitchen counter top and grinning at him like some lunatic as he fixes a kettle on the stovetop, Matty seems so real. Matty croons Coldplay songs under his breath, he sits out on the window sill in the brisk early morning and smokes George’s cigarettes.

Sometimes, George can swear that he hears Matty crying.

And it’s all very, very real. Incredibly so.

It never feels like Matty is haunting him. It feels like Matty is living with him.

“..Sorry.” George murmurs. Matty gives a simple shrug of his shoulders, keeping his face blank as his eyes concentrate on the game. “What for? S’not like you killed me. Did it my fuckin’ self, like a right idiot.” George sucks in a breath at how nonchalant Matty seems about it all. How can he be like that? Doesn’t it bother him?

The room falls silent, not even the game turned up to fill in the sound of solitude; Matty always keeps The Sims turned down, claims that the music and obnoxious voices of the characters drive him mad after a bit. 

George has known that Matty killed himself for a while now. What he doesn’t know is how, or why.

Sometimes, it keeps him awake at night.

===

The day George had found out about Matty’s suicide, they’d been watching some movie together-- Now, George can’t even recall what movie it was. Something dumb. Something mindless they could laugh at every now and then.

It’d been raining hard all day. George was meant to go out with his mates, but he could kind of tell Matty wanted him around. He’d been mopey all morning when George was moving about the house getting ready, and just fifteen minutes before he was meant to head out, he caught sight of Matty leaning in the hallway, gazing at him.

Eyes all far away and half lidded.

All Matty had to do was open his mouth, say the one little word that George didn’t think could sound so vulnerable; “Stay.”

So, George had stayed.

It was always easy to give Matty what he wanted and George never felt bad about that.

Matty had his head rested in George’s lap, the other man playing lightly with his hair. At one point Matty had thrown a kernel of popcorn from their snack bowl at the TV set and screeched something about the acting being god awful, and a laugh had rumbled through George-- making his fingers tighten just a bit in Matty’s hair.

But it’d been enough to make Matty hiss, enough to make Matty sit up and away from George, grasping at his head with eyes closed. George immediately stirred from his comfortable spot at the couch and sat straight up, “Matty? You alright?” panic rising in his gut because what just happened?

Matty waved his free hand at George and winced yet again, hand now fixed to the one side of his head-- the right side. Where George had been petting though.

“Did… Did I, um… Did I catch on your hair, or…?” Matty just shook his head and kept his eyes closed tight, then taking in harsh, shallow breaths.

When Matty had pulled his hand back from his head and opened his eyes, he glanced cautiously at his fingers-- like he was scared something might be there.

It dawned on George later that night that Matty might have been scared that he’d see his own blood.

After a few long moments Matty seemed to calm down; George kept trying to crowd him and make a fuss, but it only seemed to make things worse, so he’d learned to back off. Matty, hand then on his chest, took one final, deep breath.

From what George could tell, it seemed like the pain had stopped.

Matty’s eyes landed on George, and he looked scared. Shaken. Like he hadn’t felt whatever he’d just felt in a long, long time. “..What was that?” George finally managed after another long moment.

The darker haired of the two swallowed. Hard. He sat still against the couch and let his eyes travel to the TV. He didn’t dare look to George. 

“Your hand… It caught on a bad spot.”

George didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he didn’t want to question Matty. He still seemed pretty upset. George just slowly nodded his head and returned his attention to the TV.

“...Killed myself.”

“What?”

George turned his head to look towards Matty again, brows furrowed. 

Matty’s foot was tapping on the floor. His hand was at his mouth, gnawing on his fingernails. He was always pale, always sort of… Glowing, almost-- but George truly realized it at that moment.

Truly saw that Matty, after all, was not like him.

He wasn’t.

Matty sniffled, but there were no signs of tears. None. Quietly, he murmured,

“I killed myself. Two years ago.”

George’s mouth had gone completely dry. It felt like every part of him was screaming, screaming for what Matty said to not be true. It’s not like George liked the thought of Matty dying at all, but… Killing himself.

Suicide.

It was cold in the room, everything was cold-- but suddenly George felt very, very hot.

Matty turned his head towards George to cast him a weary smile. So devoid of any happiness. He tapped a finger ever so gently against where George’s fingers had been not even five minutes ago.

“You caught on the bad spot, love.”

And nothing, nothing had ever hurt more than that. Nothing had ever hurt more than harming Matty, even if by accident, or knowing what he’d done to himself. 

Without a second thought George leaned into Matty’s space and cautiously cupped his face, dragging their mouths together in a languid kiss. Nothing about it was rushed, and everything about it was what Matty had never experienced from any boy in his time of being alive. It was George’s warm hands pressing into his cold skin, it was Matty’s body trembling slightly when those hands travelled to his waist and pulled him close. It was Matty clutching to George like if he clutched hard enough, he might never have to let him go.

George pulled back and buried his face into Matty’s neck, pressing so many kisses to his skin, Matty lost count after ten.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry..”

The words were feathers along Matty’s skin.

Matty just sighed and tilted his head back, letting his eyes slip shut. He whispered,

“What for?”

===

It’s weird enough that the old woman at the greenery shop thinks George is buying a dozen roses for his supposed “girlfriend”. George just gives an awkward laugh and rubs at the back of his neck, feeling a heat creep up his cheeks.

“She’ll absolutely love them! You picked a lovely bunch, darling”

And what can George do? Tell her he’s buying the flowers for some dead boy that’s attached to his house? No, of course not. So he just keeps on smiling and nods his head, wanting to be as courteous as possible to the elderly woman; watching her cut the stems short.

After all, it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s no wonder she thinks George is buying the flowers for a girl. A significant other.

...George doesn’t know what him and Matty are.

They’re certainly not dating.

But they’re something.

Maybe together, they’re undefinable.

===

Matty doesn’t look phased at all when George returns home with flowers; the blonde man stood grinning by the front door with the bouquet in his hand.

Matty gives him one glance, a small smile, then wanders past to carefully lift his battered acoustic guitar from its stand. 

George’s brows furrow.

“Um. Hello.”

George wanders over, still clutching the flowers in his hand. He’s confused. Matty’s acting like there’s not some ridiculous love sentiment in George’s arms.

For two seconds, or maybe even a bit longer than that, George wishes he never bought the flowers. Maybe it was a stupid idea.

After all, the idea to buy Matty flowers on this sickeningly over-romanticized day had come to him when he was high. Plenty of stupid ideas came to George when he was under the influence.

Matty just hums and turns on his heel to face George, plucking aimlessly at a few strings that seem to run smoothly together with little effort. “Hello.” Matty echoes, lifting a brow and fixing George with a look.

Neither of them are saying anything, and it’s growing awfully uncomfortable, so Matty clears his throat and adds, ”Got a date tonight, then?” and nods his head towards the… Oh. The flowers.

...Matty doesn’t know the roses are for him.

George blinks and thrusts his arm forward until the roses are at Matty’s chest and, God, he’s honestly so embarrassed by himself that he has to cast his head down as he mumbles out,

“..Nah, mate. I mean... These-- I got ‘em for you.”

George wants to disappear. He really does. He can’t even bring himself to glance up-- lord only knows what look Matty is giving him. George didn’t really think any of it through. There was no fancy presentation, no gift to go along with the roses. They were just… Flowers. And George didn’t even know if Matty liked flowers, really. They’d never talked about flowers. They’d talked about Matty’s family and George’s least favorite movie genres and so, so many other things, but never flowers, and--

George’s head snaps up once he feels Matty’s fingers gracing his own; the fingers wrapped around the stems. The touch is soft, hesitant. The guitar in his other hand completely forgotten.

The look on Matty’s face is complete shock.

Like he can’t believe someone would even consider doing something like this for him.

Matty cants his head and his dark curls follow the motion. He steps closer to George, his fingers now crawling up to cautiously trace the velvety petals. The smallest sigh leaves his parted lips, “Lovely..” and for once, George knows that he did something right. Feels it in the pit of his gut when Matty smiles all slow and sickeningly sweet. 

The way Matty looks at the moment is enough to make George want to never leave his house and only ever be with Matty.

“For me..?” Matty asks quietly, eyes leaving the roses to catch on George’s gaze. George nods sheepishly and tries to ignore the blush that’s probably splotching his cheeks. “Yeah. All for you.” 

Matty hastily sets his guitar down and makes his way to George-- he’s leaning up on his toes and crushing the roses between them, cupping George’s cheeks hard and saying over and over again, “I adore you. I adore you, you beautiful man. George, I adore you~” at one point Matty completely squishes George’s face and the taller of the two has to lean back, spluttering and causing Matty to laugh all loud and idiotic. 

“You’ve gone and crushed some of the delicate petals like a complete imbecile.” George pouts and cradles the roses to his chest, causing Matty to laugh yet again. Once Matty’s settled down he coos and pets at George’s cheek, “Are the petals delicate like your feelings, George Daniel?” George rolls his eyes (jokingly, of course) and retorts, “Yes. You’re mocking me and it’s crushing my fragile love for you.”

Matty’s expression softens at that. His grins pulls down into a faint smile, and soon his arms are wrapping around George’s neck. George reaches back blindly to set the roses on the armrest of the couch so his hands can travel to Matty’s hips, pulling him close.

“You got those flowers for me.”

“I did.”

Matty’s smile is dopey and bright and everything good all at once. He grasps George’s chin to drag his head down, letting their open mouths fit together in a warm kiss. George tastes like cigarettes, and it’s comforting; makes Matty feel like George is his home. Like George is where his heart should be invested. Matty’s fingers tangle in George’s short hair, and he gives a gentle tug to pull their mouths apart, just so he can grin against the other man’s lips,

“You got those flowers for me, and it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes. Yeah.”

“Which means you probably fancy me a whole lot.”

George would say something to defend himself… But what was there to defend? He kind of did fancy Matty a whole lot. More than he should. And there were so many complications that came along with that. 

But George wasn’t thinking about anything other than Matty; wasn’t thinking about what the future would bring, or where he’d be in five years time.

All George could bring himself to care about was the present; which was currently Matty wrapped in his arms, gazing joyfully up at him.

Finally, with a lopsided grin, George agrees; 

“Yeah. Prob’ly do fancy you a whole lot. Maybe.”

The force of Matty’s grin creates all types of line on his face; around his mouth, around his eyes. 

George makes an internal reminder to some day count all those lines and tell Matty how gorgeous it is to see the proof of his happiness.

Soon they’re kissing again, and Matty’s all but pushing George backwards towards the bedroom.

All George could do was hope that that wasn’t the first bouquet of flowers Matty had ever received.

George would make sure it wasn’t Matty’s last.


End file.
